


Biblical

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Persecution, Angst, Depression, Homophobia, Kurt-Centric, M/M, Religious Group of Ultimate Evil and Death, Running Away, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:58:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is on the run, from religious persecution. In his world, being gay is punishable by death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biblical

Biblical

They know who I am, but they haven’t come for me yet. Maybe they think that I’ll actually find him, that I’ll lead them to the founder of the resistance movement. Like I’m stupid enough to do that. I won’t find him, because I’m not looking. But they don’t need to know that. As long as they think I’m searching, they’ll keep me alive. I’ll be free. Freedom costs a lot these days.

Knowing as I do that the buzz of the helicopter above the endless desert is for me, and that the cameras mounted on it are pointing in order to monitor my progress, it makes it easier for me to decide that it really is better to avoid looking for him. This knowledge doesn’t quench my desire to go, though. Every step in the wrong direction is like a stake through my heart. But knowing that it’s for his benefit keeps me strong. I’m not only keeping myself safe, but him as well.

As I keep walking in what I hope is the wrong direction, I pray.

I pray because although it’s religion that has got us into this whole mess, my mum used to believe that it was the only thing that would get us out. And she never believed that God hated anyone, least of all me, so I have hope that my prayers will be answered even though everyone else says that it’s impossible.

Praying is what got us into this mess. The idea of one man, that God had come to him oh so spiritually and had told him that his job was to rid the world of the filth it contained. Only…filth, to Simon Harrison, meant gays. More specifically: anyone who acted gay. Effeminate men, masculine women, anyone who’d actually come out. They were captured. Taken to Prison Camps not unlike what I’d heard about in history class, when we were learning about Hitler. I ran. Being out at McKinley was more dangerous than ever before, because homophobes were revelling in the opportunity to rat out all of the people they despised. I tried to tell Blaine to come with me—to _hide_ —but he wanted to change what was happening. It was our worst argument ever, and two months later I was on a journey across the USA with no end, and he was the leader of the biggest resistance movement there was.

Is the choice I made the right one? The question haunts me, but I try not to dwell on it. His last words to me.

“The time to fight is now, Kurt. If you’re not with us you’re against us. Don’t be a coward.” I hadn’t replied. “Kurt, I love you. Don’t leave me.”

Time wasn’t on our side. I left him.

Wasn’t it just too perfect, before? Being able to hold hands in the corridor, being able to say ‘I love you’ without checking to see if anyone was looking. Now, they’re always looking. Kissing a boy would be like a death sentence for me. Even identifying as gay should be enough to get me in prison.

It’s the end of another day, with the sun sinking below the just-visible mountains. There’s an ocean of sand before me, with the wind thrusting grains into my eyes and sun too hot and too high. I’ve got a little food, barely enough, and a sleeping bag. There are two bottles of water left. It’s been a month, but I won’t last much longer.

The worst thing is that sometimes I wish they would take me. It would be easier, surely. To be safe and warm in a prison cell, only having to deal with bad quality of cells and homophobia. I shake my head: of course it would be terrible. There would be incessant torture and disgusting conditions. And they will, eventually, find Blaine, if I’m not leading them along the wrong track. Although…what if they find him anyway?

***

There’s blood seeping from the back of my head, sticky and incessant. I don’t remember what happened, but when my eyes flicker open I realise that I’m not where I was before. I’m inside, for one thing, with air conditioning and a cool metal against my back. I’m strapped to the table I’m on, unable to move my limbs.

“Kurt. You’re awake.”

I look up, into the deep eyes of a man I’ve seen on Propoganda posters, and on the TV.

“Mr Kyle,” I say roughly, my voice hoarse. “What have you…?”

“You didn’t really think I was going to spare your life, did you?” he replies. “Oh, Kurt. We captured your boyfriend weeks ago.”

“Blaine!” I cry, the words pushing past the sandpaper of my trachea and coming out weak all the same.

“No worry, we’ll bring him in here.”

As if waiting for his command, the door swings open, and Blaine is pushed into the room. He sprawls on his knees and winces in agony, and I struggle even harder. The straps cut into my wrists and torso, creating new raised lines of welts and scratches, but I don’t care.

“Blaine!”

His eyes are dead when he looks up. My voice catches again and my nose sting in a pre-warning for the tears that are about to fall.

“They caught you, too? So hiding didn’t work, then.” His voice is a monotone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“We’re dead. We’re already dead and you did nothing to help,” he says.

“The resistance will keep fighting,” I promise.

“Not when they’re cowards like you,” he hisses.

“Stop!” I shout, as much as my voice will allow. “I love you, Blaine. I was a coward. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll leave you two to say your parting words,” Mr Kyle interrupts, his smile sinister.

There’s a hiss as the door opens and shuts behind him in quick succession.

“I love you, Kurt,” Blaine reaffirms. “And…I suppose neither of us could change this. I just wish you’d tried.”

He stands up and leans down to press a quick kiss to my dry, chapped lips, and his tears drip to mingle with mine.

“If I die, I’m glad that I saw you first,” I say.

***

I regret that statement soon enough. They torture each of us in turn, allowing—ordering—the other to watch. They burn red welts down my skin, they duck Blaine’s head into water and near-drown him. I can barely see through vision blurred with pain, but I still scream. Maybe someone will have mercy; maybe one person will help.

They don’t.

He’s the one who buckles first. It’s been an extended period of peace for me, and an extended one of pain for him. My hand is reaching out uselessly and he’s babbling nonsense when abruptly, it stops.

“Blaine…Blaine! BLAINE!” I yell helplessly, stretching my body against the immense agony searing my skin.

I look around, eyes wild. They’ve left their instruments of torture lying around because, well, this is a torture room. But no one’s looking at me; their attention is focused solely on the autopsy of the dead body next to me.

I grab the sharpest thing I can reach…and then it’s silent.

The last thing I see before my eternal peace is Blaine’s hand reaching for me. I follow it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comment/Bookmark and I'll love you forever :D


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